


Without Me

by loves_books



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 05:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: Things fell apart after I’d gone.It happened quicker and more spectacularly than I would’ve expected, and the three of them are still falling further apart as I watch. Now don’t get me wrong, I thought they’d be upset. I would have been a bit upset myself if they’d just shrugged and moved straight on. I hoped they might shed a tear or two for little ol’ me, but I also knew I wasn’t ever the centrepiece of our quartet. I was entirely okay with that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please take note of the warnings, and then please don't hate me if you choose to read on.

Things fell apart after I’d gone.

It happened quicker and more spectacularly than I would’ve expected, and the three of them are still falling further apart as I watch. Now don’t get me wrong, I thought they’d be upset. I would have been a bit upset myself if they’d just shrugged and moved straight on. I hoped they might shed a tear or two for little ol’ me, but I also knew I wasn’t ever the centrepiece of our quartet. I was entirely okay with that.

No, I figured they’d grieve quietly for a while then find a way through it and carry on with their lives, and their work. There’s plenty more crazy captains out there, after all, and it’s the life of a soldier, particularly the life of a Ranger: people die.

That could even be our motto, maybe. A truer and more honest one than what we’ve got: sua sponte. Of our own accord. Of ‘their’ own accord now, without me.

People do die, though, soldiers especially, so you’d think they’d all be used to it by now, career soldiers one and all. I figure we’d all just been together too long, just the four of us out there doing our own thing, of our own accord; nearly eight years and eighty missions, that’s not too shabby as records go. I’m certainly proud of what we achieved. I made a difference with my life, and with my death, and that’s a good thing.

We’ve had some close calls over the years, all of us, myself included. We nearly lost Face last year when he caught a bullet in the belly, for example, and BA’s appendix tried pretty hard to take him out the year before that. Hannibal’s pretty much indestructible, of course. Ain’t nothing going to take out the bossman without one hell of a fight.

So I figured they’d be sad I’d gone, but I honestly didn’t expect them to fall apart quite like they are. My buddies are three of the toughest Rangers I’ve ever had the privilege to meet, let alone call my friends, my brothers, yet if you could only see them now…

It’s only been six weeks, so maybe I’m being a teeny tiny bit unfair. At least, I think it’s been six weeks. Time moves a bit differently up here.

Maybe it’s actually been six months, or six years. Maybe it’s only been six seconds, or six minutes, or six days – naw, that’s a stupid thought, even for me. They’ve had my funeral already, I was there for that – full military honours, no less, and Hannibal down on one knee giving the folded Stars and Stripes to my aging grandparents, both of them sitting there quiet and overwhelmed by the whole show.

The sun shone all day, not even a hint of a cloud in the sky – would’ve been a great day for a nice long flight. It was good to see everyone in one place one last time, all there to send me off with a big bang. Couldn’t have asked for anything more.

My team held it together pretty well on that sunny day, but now I just hate seeing them like this, the three closest friends I ever had. Like I say, I thought they might shed a tear or two, maybe get blindingly drunk and get into a fight or three. Maybe they’d refuse to get a fourth teammate anytime soon, though I know half a dozen mad pilots who’d give their left arm to work with Hannibal Smith and his boys. Some of them would even do it literally.

The drinking and the crying and the fighting all went on, I know, ‘cause I watched it all, most of it with a big smile. I do love these guys. BA and Face murdered ‘I will always love you’ on the karaoke machine, which was hilarious, while Hannibal drank so much tequila one night he spent nearly an hour talking to a yukka plant near the bar. It actually offered him some solid advice but I don’t think the boss was ready to hear it. Shame.

He’s blaming himself, I can see it. He’s always got to be the man in charge, the man with the plan, and sure, that comes with being The Colonel, but it doesn’t mean he knows everything and can see every tiny hitch in the plan before it even becomes a hitch.

I wish he could take a step back and be objective for just a minute or two. I wish he’d pay attention to the report from the official enquiry into my death. They got it right: it wasn’t anyone’s fault, it was just one of those things that happen when you go out fighting. And I saved fifteen innocent lives, not to mention saving my team. Not that I’m bragging. 

I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew what was going to happen to me. There wasn’t any other way, not with the time left before the bomb went off, and my only regret is that we were on comms silence at the time so I couldn’t tell them what was going to happen. Couldn’t say ‘goodbye’ or ‘thanks for all the fish’ or ‘love ya’ or even ‘see you on the flip side’.

I’ve tried so hard to whisper in the boss’s ear, trying to tell him I don’t blame him and that it wasn’t his fault, but he isn’t listening. He’s too wrapped up in all that guilt, wearing it like a cloak. Too noble for his own good, really, but then that’s one of the many thousands of reasons why he’s been the most brilliant bossman I could ever have wanted.

Hannibal saved me, that day back in Mexico. Saved my life without any shadow of a doubt, and saved me a thousand times since, by getting me back in the air and treating me like I wasn’t just a broken shell of a man. He made me feel valued, like I was worth something, and I’ll be grateful to him until the day I – oh, wait, I already did that. 

BA’s blaming himself too, which I really am a bit surprised at. I didn’t see that coming – I mean, he wasn’t even there, not at the end when the timer hit zero. He was doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing, what he needed to be doing, taking out the tanks on the other side of the citadel. There wasn’t a single thing he could’ve done differently. He couldn’t have saved me, though of course he thinks he should’ve done.

He’s angry, and that’s the one thing I definitely did expect from him. It’s the big guy’s default reaction: if something upsets you, get angry. If something happens you don’t like, hit something. He wrecked the punching bag in the base gym the day after they got back without me. Wrecked his knuckles too, silly man, as he didn’t bother with gloves.

I’m making him sound like an angry lunatic who can’t deal with his emotions, and that’s not fair. You know BA, so you know he’s a pussy cat at heart. He puts on a tough front, though, always has done.

We had a strange relationship, him and me. A proper love-hate relationship. I know I drove him up the wall, quite literally at times, but we were always there for each other no matter what. We always had each other’s backs. I trusted him with my life, and I know he trusted me too, even if he couldn’t find a way to forgive and forget about Mexico. That means a whole lot.

I hate seeing him so mad at the whole world, but I have to hope he’ll get over it. He’ll find his way through all the anger, wrecking a few more pieces of gym equipment along the way, then hopefully he’ll be able to remember me and smile. ‘Crazy fool’ he always called me, and I reckon that’s how he’ll think of me. I only hope he doesn’t get thrown out of the Army again before he gets there.

Ordinarily I’d be counting on Face to help BA find his calm, and to shake the guilt out of Hannibal at the same time, but my best buddy is a real mess. Maybe I should’ve figured he’d find it hardest to carry on without me, but at the same time I reasoned that my Facey is an expert in putting on a brave smile and pushing through the pain. He’s certainly had enough practise during his life, and that always breaks my heart to think about, but he’s had the three of us for years now – well, he’s only got the two of them now, and maybe that’s why it’s so hard for him. 

Face has always been my best brother, right from those very first days when we were all on edge and trying to figure each other out. Hannibal’s lost boys, all three of us, and we all bumped heads a few times while we were getting used to each other’s little quirks, but Face just seemed to get me from day one. And I got him too; those masks of his were pretty transparent to me from the start.

He was always the one who sat with me when things got really bad, when the walls would start melting around me or the sky would turn purple for no good reason. He was the one who would sit up all night playing games with me when I couldn’t sleep, even when he was obviously exhausted, and I selfishly let him stay with me ‘cause I needed him there. I needed his strength and his humour and his total acceptance of whatever crazy idea came out of my crazy mouth.

He needed me too, for the days when his own particular brand of craziness kicked in. He gets down sometimes, not depressed but just down, and I could always see it happening because it happened to me too. I could sometimes fight it off for him before it hit, but I’d sit with him otherwise, like he’d sat with me so many times before.

But beyond all that touchy-feely stuff we never talked about, he’s always just been the one to make me laugh, and the one to make me feel most alive. So now, seeing him so close to tears all day long, it really hurts me badly. I want him to remember me and smile, to know that I went out with a bang saving his life, amongst others, but he seems so heartbroken. I wish I could hold him and tell him it’ll all be okay. But I can’t.

What’s almost worse than all that is seeing what’s happening to him and Hannibal as a pair. They should be able to turn to each other for support, but they aren’t, and that scares me. 

I knew they were an item from the first day I met them, though they never made me and BA feel like we were in the way, not even once in all these years. They’re professional soldiers more than anything, and they’ve clashed from time to time on what actions the team should take, but they never seemed to carry those arguments over to the times when they were together and off duty.

I loved seeing them together like that, seeing them so deeply and completely in love. They’re so sweet together usually. The way Hannibal would look at Face so tenderly, and Face would smile that rare natural smile he only seems to share with Hannibal. The way they’d sit together in just the one armchair, not really hugging but just sort of wrapped around each other. Not that either of them were ever big on PDAs, of course: Face had a reputation to protect, a reputation that did a lot of good for the whole team, and then there was always DADT, and they’re also both pretty private people for all that they’re larger-than-life characters. It was always just obvious that they loved each other more than life.

I don’t see that right now, though, and I don’t know why. Hannibal’s off blaming himself, and Face is feeling so sad, and I’m really hoping Face isn’t blaming Hannibal too. I can’t read minds, even now, though that would be pretty cool. Maybe I’ll put in a request. There must be a comments box up here somewhere.

Not that I’ve been looking, not for any dirty reason anyhow, but Hannibal and Face aren’t even sleeping together. Face has moved back into his pathetic little spare room single bed, not a word of explanation offered, while Hannibal is alone in the master bedroom. Face cries himself to sleep on the nights he doesn’t pass out drunk, while Hannibal has started taking pills after going nearly a week without more than a catnap at one point. BA’s staying on the base in barracks, scaring the life out of the other soldiers as he rants and rages, and he’s barely sleeping either.

It’s not the way it should be, none of it. My team are falling apart without me, when they should be pulling themselves closer together. Hannibal should be stepping up as leader and setting a good example by accepting it wasn’t his fault. BA should see a counsellor – they all should, but they won’t – and find a way to get that anger out in a way that won’t leave him with broken bones. Face just needs to let me go, in whatever way works for him. 

More than anything, I wish I could help them. I wish I could hug them and tell them I’m okay, that I’m proud of what I did that day and I don’t blame any of them for one single thing. I wish I could tell them that I’ll stick around for a while, if I can, though I’m not quite sure I’ve figured out how this all works yet. I hope I can stick around. I need to know they’ll be okay.

But all I can do is watch as they keep right on falling apart. 

So I keep right on watching.


	2. Chapter 2

I watch, and I wait.

It’s never boring – spending time with my three brothers can never be boring, even if they don’t know I’m there, and time seems not to be following any of the usual rules anyhow. I’m not entirely sure I’m seeing things happen in the right sequence, to be honest, but that just makes things all the more interesting.

I watch, and I wait, and I keep hoping that they’ll all snap out of it. BA’s headed straight into a real tailspin, and both Face and Hannibal are nearly too painful for me to even watch. Something has to change, sooner or later, and hopefully change for the better.

Then, suddenly and without warning, things do change, just as things tend to do. And I watch as the whole thing happens. I watch helplessly as BA hands in his resignation papers, though at that moment I’m not all that surprised since I’ve been watching him agonising over the decision for days. I’ll admit I was surprised when he first sat down to fill in the forms, slowly and carefully, with pen in hand – he suits a gun or a hammer so much better, in my humble opinion.

His Mama’s sick; that’s what finally pushes BA out, and Hannibal doesn’t even know so hasn’t been able to talk him out of going. To be fair, though, BA hasn’t told anyone. It’s cancer, but apparently it’s the good kind and they’ve caught it really early, so I hope and pray that the lovely Mama B will be just fine in time. There are days when I really do wish I could see into the future, or at least fast forward to the better stuff.

BA’s a good and loving son, of course, and his Mama’s all the family he had when he was growing up. She stood by him through his difficult years, after he was thrown out of the Army the first time around, and he wants to be with her now. He wants to look after her the way she’s always looked after him, and blood is more important than brotherhood, in the end; I can’t blame him for that, not with me long gone, and with Hannibal and Face too wrapped up in their own problems to be much real support for him at all.

At least BA’s anger at my death seems to have faded away in the wake of his worry for his Mama. And I guess it’s some small blessing that he’s chosen to leave the Rangers under his own steam this time, because even I could see he was headed towards being thrown out yet again.

So I watch as the big man leaves, quietly, with little fanfare. He doesn’t even have a going-away party, just hops willingly on a plane one night with his kitbag slung over his shoulder and a handful of sedatives in his pocket. I stand there alongside Face and Hannibal to see him off with a smile and a handshake, as they send their best wishes to Mama and tell BA how much they’ll miss him. 

They don’t talk as they watch the plane carry the big man away from them.

They don’t talk on the drive back, nor when they get back inside the house the team used to share. They go to their own separate rooms, both of them clearly miserable and in need of a hug, and quite honestly I just want to bang their silly heads together and make them speak to each other.

They’ve lost two teammates now. They should be clinging on to each other for all they’re worth.

More time passes, and I’m still watching over them all. Maybe it’s a few weeks, or a few months – I kind of wish I had a clock or a calendar, really, but then it’s also pretty cool just floating along the way I am.

Both of my two remaining Army boys seem to move on, at long last, in their own special ways. Overnight, Hannibal somehow decides to learn from what happened to me and to forgive himself – I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve tried to tell him there’s simply nothing to forgive – while Face pulls himself together abruptly, slipping a mask over his emotions, just like I always knew he would.

Face is the one who spends an afternoon packing up the very last of my belongings, wrapping each comic book and figurine in far more bubble wrap than they really deserve. I didn’t own much of any importance, none of us do. A Ranger’s life is lived on the move, often at very short notice, and there’s no place for too many material possessions. He keeps one of my favourite caps – the red one, which quite frankly was more than a bit smelly even when I was still alive, so I dread to think how ripe it is now – then he sends the rest off to my family.

Then, to my horror, he accepts a transfer to another team, and Hannibal doesn’t even try to stop him.

It would be easier to understand it if they’d actually had a big falling out at any point. If Face had screamed at Hannibal that it was all his fault and that he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him, let alone the same bed. If Hannibal had told Face to man up and get over it, that soldiers die and there’s nothing to be done about it.

Easier to understand it if they’d said they didn’t love each other anymore. Not that I’d believe it for a second.

But none of that happens. They even part on relatively good terms, with a long embrace and a soft kiss on the lips, their first in weeks. Maybe this is what they both need, and maybe they don’t have to talk about it. I wish they would, though, because I have no idea what’s going through their minds at this point. All I can see is the pain in Hannibal’s eyes and the hurt in Face’s, and I don’t understand any of it.

Then Face is gone, leaving Hannibal to start the slow process of building a new life and a new team from scratch.

I keep on watching over them all, feeling increasingly anxious as time goes on. I can’t see a way back together for my brothers. It shouldn’t be this way.

More months pass, I think, then the first anniversary of my death rolls around. The three of them meet up in a hotel bar in New York, of all places, and they share a few quiet drinks. BA’s Mama is all better, thank goodness, but he tells Face and Hannibal that he isn’t going back to the Rangers. He’s got a job, and a girl, and he’s happy. He’s at peace.

Hannibal is doing well, too, though I wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s happy or at peace, and his new team are headed out together in a few weeks for their first proper op. Face is looking good, tanned and healthy again where he’d lost some weight through grieving over me, and he tells them that there’s a good chance he’ll make Captain in a few months – I’m so proud of him I could burst, and I can see the matching pride and love in Hannibal’s eyes when he shakes Face’s hand, holding on for just a few seconds too long.

They all still go their separate ways that night, though, after drinking a toast or three to my memory. Some of the nice things they say about me could make a man blush, quite frankly, but I know I was a fun guy to have around most of the time. I feel bad that they still miss me, but I guess I can see them whenever I want to. They’ve only got their memories of me.

And their lives just carry on like that, as I drift in and out, keeping a weather eye open. I’m there at BA’s wedding, when his two new stepsons walk his beautiful bride down the aisle, his Mama at his side. Face and Hannibal are both stuck out in the field sadly, in two different war zones, but they send their love and gifts across the miles, and I can see they’re both thinking about him. 

BA and his wife have a baby together less than a year later, and their gorgeous little boy is burdened with the name of Murdock John Templeton Baracus. The kid doesn’t stand a chance with a name like that, but I do appreciate the sentiment, and I know the guys feel the same way. 

Hannibal and Face keep on keeping on with the Rangers, orbiting slowly around each other but never quite connecting. I’m there when Face makes Captain, then when he makes Major a few years later, cheering him on as loudly as I can. I’m there when Hannibal refuses promotion after promotion, determined to stay exactly where he is in the field, and I cheer him on too even though the sad fact is that he’s not getting any younger. 

Neither of them get married, though they aren’t celibate either. Face sleeps around a bit, like he used to do, guys and gals and anything goes. Hannibal doesn’t sleep around but he does date a fellow colonel for a while, all of it kept very much under the radar even though DADT is a distant memory, and while I can see they’re sweet together I can also tell that his heart just isn’t in it. I’m not surprised when he gently breaks up with the guy. 

Worst thing about all this watching is that I can’t knock any sense into them, no matter how much I might wish I could. BA’s happy, but Hannibal and Face are just pretending, and trying to convince themselves they’ve made the right decisions.

Still, time goes on and the years pass by, and they all do pretty well in the lives they’ve chosen. The three of them even manage to meet up again on the fifth anniversary of the day they lost me, at BA’s home in Chicago this time with his three boys playing outside in the garden, and then on the tenth anniversary they meet by Face’s hospital bed in Texas where he’s recovering slowly after an IUD took out the rest of his team and nearly killed him.

I was with him that day, and I could see it coming almost in slow motion. I screamed at him to move to his left, to duck behind a wall, and I don’t know if he heard me for the first time ever or if those razor-sharp instincts of his kicked in at the last moment, but he moved just in the nick of time.

I think that little scare does both Colonel Smith and Major Peck the world of good: Hannibal doesn’t leave Face’s side for longer than he absolutely has to while he’s in hospital, then they spend a night cuddling carefully together in Hannibal’s bed once Face is finally released, and I’m cautious not to watch too closely because there’s some things I still don’t need or want to see. 

Two weeks later, I’m there when Face officially moves back in to the house we all used to share, then I’m still there another two weeks after that when he heads back out into the field with Hannibal’s team – now his team, too – with an engagement ring worn on a chain around his neck, kept close to his heart.

They’re planning a simple wedding when they get back. No fuss. No wedding planners or expensive venues, no tailored suits or engraved invitations. Just the two of them, and a couple of random witnesses pulled from off the street. Maybe BA and his Mama, or maybe they’ll fly up to tell them the news in person after they’re already married. And me, of course, I’ll be there, though they won’t know. I’ll be watching, feeling so happy I could almost cry as they finally find their way back to each other at last. I can hardly wait.

Life doesn’t work that way. I should know, as I learned that fact the hard way myself.

It’s an ambush, one that not even the great Hannibal Smith could have planned for, and he doesn’t even know what hits him when a bullet strikes his chest, severing his aorta and killing him instantly. I scream and I rage but as always I’m completely helpless to do anything but watch, and mercifully, Face has no time to realise Hannibal has gone before a bullet hits him straight between the eyes, and he’s just gone too.

They’re not gone, though, not really, because now they’re here with me. They’re both whole and uninjured, and they get to spend the rest of their lives together free of fear and pain. They have all the time in the world to make up for those years when they were apart, though they’ve learned to have no regrets, just like me.

And together we’ll all keep watching over our last brother, until the day when he comes to join us too, hopefully far off in the future when his boys – including little Murdock – are grown into men.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt from Spot_On60:
> 
> The team has lost Murdock. He may have been killed during a mission (military or on the run). He may have been medically discharged from service. He may have been moved to a maximum security psychiatric hospital (Face tries unsuccessfully to break him out).
> 
> What does this do to the rest of them, Face or Hannibal in particular? How do they cope without? Hannibal can't get over the feeling he's let everyone down because he didn't somehow prevent it. Or Face is heartbroken to lose his best friend.


End file.
